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BY VIC REINHARDT 



PRICE 25 CENTS 



TERRELL, TEXAS, 
1010 




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Book 1^3C 



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BY VIC REINHARDT 



PRICE 25 CENTS 



TERRELL. TEXAS 
1910 






2 A Druvimir Boy of Shikili 



PREFACE 

The battle of Shiloh was such a vivid picture upon the 
boyish mind of the author that about twenty years ag-o he 
wrote "A Drummer Boy of Shiloh/' which at that time 
was favorably commented on. Later it was reduced to 
about half its former length, and has been read and recit- 
ed in this form. It received such favorable commendation 
as to induce its publication. It is therefore presented to 
the reading public, and especially to the soldiers of the Civil 
war, South and North, as the vivid impression of a youth 
of the South who took part in those two memorable days, 
believing it will find a responsive chord in every heart. 

The Autiiok. 



©C(.A261409 



A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. 



A Druinnier Boy of Shiloh. 



In representing the drummer boy of this subject we 
beg to remind you that he was a mere boy in reality, both 
in age and size, for, on the day he left his humble home in 
Alabama, in 1861, he weighed seventy-two pounds, scant. 
Be it especially remembered also, that the incidents of 
four years of civil war passed before him more as a youth 
or child than a mature man; that he saw the realities of 
strife and carnage rather in a transient light. The gen- 
eralities of war, the minutea and detail of marching col- 
umns he cared little for, but what claimed his attention 
was the immediate and personal experiences and observa- 
tions of one of his age. He knew and saw enough of this, 
however, to fill a large volume with interesting reading. 

The eloquent appeals of such men as William L. 
Yancey was followed by the piercing notes of the fife and 
the martial beat of the drum ; then the enlistment, the drill, 
the uniform, the sad, sad hour of home leaving; when the 
train pulled out slowly, the waving of flags and handker- 
chiefs ceased and the parental roof, the church spires, 
familiar scenes, all fade from view. The boy stands on the 
rear platform of the last coach, the Captain's hand resting 
on his shoulder, looking back, as tears chased each other 
down the cheek in quick succession, and the heart sighs 
as memory repeats the scene of fond embraces, flowing 
tears, and endearing words of cheer and comfort from 
those loved ones, some of them to see no more. The dear 
old home and its hallowed surroundings ri^ up again and 
again, until weary and worn, eyes are dried and thoughts 
turn to the present and future, though ever and anon a re- 
creant tear drop is seen trickling down the cheek. 

Seventy-two miles ride and the train transfers its 
bouyant life freight to a packet on the Alabama river, then 
down the river via Mobile and out on Dauphin Island in 
the great Gulf, Vv^here the company goes into camp, and 
after due process, the company was declared in every re- 



A Drummer Boy of SJiiloh. 



spect ready for active service. How well the boy remem- 
bers the inspiration of the moment when he first looked 
out upon the broad expanse of waters, which seemed lim- 
itless as eternity, beautiful, wonderful, grand and inspiring. 
How he with strained eyes from day to day counted and 
watched the men-of-war, as those on board of them 
watched with eagerness for opportunities of advantage 
that would enable them to quench the fire that burned in 
the heart of each Southern patriot. While here no event 
of military importance occurred, but many incidents, ludi- 
crous and otherwise, were stored in memory's sacred keep- 
ing, to be called up many times and many days hence. 
Then to Camp Memminger, near Mobile, perfecting regi- 
mental and brigade organization, and from there to 
Corinth, Miss., just prior to the memorable battle of Shiloh, 
the first general engagement witnessed by this stripling of 
a lad. 

S H I L O H 

The rush and confusion incident to the breaking of 
camp previous to a great battle is best appreciated by those 
who have been there, and of course cannot be satisfactorily 
pictured to those who have not been eye witnesses to such 
exciting scenes. Camps are cleared and all is now ready. 
While restlessly waiting for a place in the marching col- 
umn the lad quietly approaches a tent near by, and press- 
ing his way through the crowd of surgeons and nurses, who 
quickly gave way for him, beands over a prostrate form 
there and kisses the fevered lips and brow of an older 
brother, a minister of the gospel, whom he must leave be- 
hind. His last words burned the lads heart, for those 
words and those eyes told him that the river crossing was 
near at hand, and so it proved to be, for within a few 
hours his sweet spirit passed into the realities of his bliss- 
ful eternal inheritance, and his ashes sleep we know not 
where, for his grave could never be found. 

Marching columns of infantry, cavalry and artillery 
spoke loudly of the coming conflict. Saturday night on 
arms with strict orders to be quiet and still, ready to move 



A Drummer Boy of Shiloh 



at a moments warning', and with almost breathless silence 
most of the night was spent. Before the dawning of the 
Sabbath day the line was moving — moving with a rush 
that spoke volumes, and yet with a kind of restless still- 
ness, comparatively, that angered the dreadful realities 
unveiling" just ahead. Marching with unbroken front and 
steady step through the forest of trees, through brush, 
briars, vines, over fences with a tread that almost shook 
the earth beneath. Just after daylight Generals Johnston, 
Polk and Withers rode in front of the line, and the men 
were almost wild with excitement and enthusiasm, though 
outbursts were forbidden. Then all was hushed, except 
the officers giving command here, there, everywhere it 
seemed. The line moves on grandly, with a majestic step, 
eyes directly in front, every man doing his best. But, 
look; there are the pickets, and they are firing- at apparent 
close range. Over there are two m.en lifting a third, who 
appears almost lifeless. See; another falls. A badly 
wounded horse is passed ; a limping soldier sustained by 
a comrade, each stained with blood. There are General 
Gladden and Colonel Loomis moving on with the command. 
The boy is tapping" his drum and the step is perfect. A 
little rill is crossed and a few paces beyond, and, look on 
the rise of that gently sloping hill directly in front. 
What? A long blue line with bristling steel, like a Texas 
norther rising from the horizon with streaks of lightning 
for ornaments. There is a motion inthatline, and, ''down'' 
came the command from. Loomis, at which every man 
dropped to the ground as if dead, when a volley of lead 
from that blue line passed over their heads, a noise like 
the flight of a thousand birds and hissing serpents. " LV 
came the com^mand from the panther voice of Loomis, and 
then in quick succession, ''fonvard, frail arms, double qicick, 
charge baynucis.'' Then, yes, then. Language cowers like 
a beaten foe at the task, for to me no mortal can pen in 
prose or verse, or paint on canvas the picture, the feelings, 
the thoughts, the awful realities of those moments. Let 
the eye turn away from the scene while we attempt to tell 
the drummer boy's story, language lame and inadequate. 



6 A Drummer Boy of ShiJoh. 

Listen at those minnie balls as they come faster and 
faster, nearer and nearer, harder and harder. The drum's 
tap, tap, tap, tap, keeps the time. Then there is a change 
to the strains of Dixie, but the notes are lost in the sound 
of strife, and those men now realize that they are squarely 
in it. Minnie balls as they "siz,'' "zip," "spat,'' "cut- 
chew," "cuzziz" along or plow their way into the trees or the 
flesh of men, and the volley became more deafening, dead- 
ening, dazing. We recount one of th(3 thousand incidents 
that occur, and see them now in all their fearful realities. 
There, a gun drops from the hand of a comrade almost 
touching him, his eyes turn to the boy with a staring look, 
while a strange, unnatural, pleading smile plays upon his 
face; a drooping head and that is all. An officer's sword 
drops from his right hand, his left hand grasped his right 
side, he staggered, plunged forward, fell to his knees, with 
upturned face and quivering white lips. Men reel, stagger 
and fall as vitals are pierced, while many others gasping, 
limping, bleeding, keep in line, moving on with steady 
nerve. Then this advancing column becomes slow, as if 
some mighty ocean wave had suddenly broken in upon it, 
caused by the storm of leaden hail that emptied its fury 
against the line, as those men leaned forward against the 
awful, awful pressure. 

It was a critical moment, and at this juncture the 
boy threw the drum over his shoulder, grasped his little 
rifle, or carbine, pulled his cartridge box around a little in 
front as he lisped to himself: "I may help a little, if only 
by one shot," and he looked down the line, and oh, such a 
sight. Memory can never prove recreant to that sight. 
That line, pulling hard against the tide, wavered, wavered 
as if laboring under some heavy, depressing burden, so 
well known by the soldiers of those days. The Colonel 
saw it, and with a sternness that pierced every heart, cried, 
''steady, steady, my men,"*' The words had electric force, and 
they steadied with nerves of steel and defiant expression. 
''F-o-r-w-a-r-d'' cammanded Loomis with a shrill voice 
that seemed to cut the cool morning atmosphere with its 
nervy, sharp accent, glancing back in the faces of those 



A Drummer Boy of ShiloJi, 



Alabamians, whose eyes met his and flashed back a ready, 
approving response. Then, that line; those faces, as he 
saw them then, and come forth now in nervous haste at 
memory's command. There, look; but for the moving life 
one might mistake the line for a column of statuary, but 
the life in the scene changes the entire aspect. Look, eyes 
firmly fixed and flashing with a demonlike glare. Lips 
apart and compressed to whiteness. Teeth in most instan- 
ces, clinched as if fastened v/ith hinges of steel; hat or cap 
slightly set back, revealing wrinkled forehead, brow drawn 
down— leaning hard against the surging, beating torrents, 
which seemed would last forever, while solid shot, grape, 
cannister and minnie balls all ply their horrid work of 
death. At this awfully trying and eventful moment, a 
voice rang out above the din of battle for Dixie. The 
drum and gun quickly changed places, the fife notes pierced 
the air and the drum rattled away with furious energy, and 
those men seemed transformed into new characters direct- 
ly adverse to every impulse of preceding life, with faces 
that depicted a set stare of aggrivated frenzy, a despera- 
tion born of goaded fury, fretted and tantalized madness, 
reckless, fearless, devil daring. Their tongues are loosed 
as by electric touch, and there comes forth a voluntary 
fury of sound; a rumbling, consuming, discordant, demon- 
iacal, stupendous volume of unheard of, unpunctured, in- 
describable, avv^e inspiring noise, that increases in volume 
each flying moment, sways back and forth, back and forth 
as a mighty chaos of leaping, flying, rolling thunder. The 
earth seems to tremble beneath the feet of tiiose infuriated 
sons of men. It was the awful "rebel yell," which fixed 
itself in the minds and hearts of all whoever heard it, and 
holds a life membership in the temple of memory. It pos- 
sessed an inspiration that stopped the notes of the fife and 
the beat of the drum, and quick as muscle and nerve could 
act the drum again took place on the back of the boy, and 
the gun began to play its part from the drummer's right 
hand, as that fire born body of men sped on with a mad 
rush; on, on to the jaws of death without a tremor of fear, 
to that line that stood bravely defiant and met them with 



8 A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. 

a look of disdain, like that of Goliath when he looked down 
upon David, forgetting that that advancing column was 
made of timber as true and patriotic as themselves. But 
on, on to that bulwark that seemed impregnable; on with 
that awful sound, leaving their dead and wounded, which 
fall like leaves of autumn when the limbs are shaken with 
a twirling wind, with ranks trimmed by the brother in blue, 
bayonets fixed and ready to use, closing in steadily. But 
look. Ah, look — a waver. That blue line sways right and 
left and displays gleams of light through that line of blue 
as they look into the faces of those infuriated Southern 
soldiers. Disorder possesses them and they retreat rapid- 
ly, followed by the conquering hosts of the Southern army. 
Similar experiences are repeated several times during the 
day, a detailed account of which would consume days m 
telling. 

During a charge that Sabbath afternoon a shell that 
burst overhead sent a piece into a tree near by, a fragment 
falling from the tree to the boy's head. He remembered 
only a flash, and as he reeled, was caught by a sergeant of 
his regiment, who held to the boy as he aimlessly and un- 
consciously kept along with the line. This lasted only a 
short time, and when he realized his condition he found 
his faithful friend by his side, sustaining his every step, 
while all around him lay the dead and wounded, and the 
roar of the cannon and small arms greeted his ears as ho 
moved along with those men, he hardly knew how or 
where. The line halted a moment. In brushing his hand 
over his face and forehead he saw that it was crimson with 
blood, and this, with the additional testimony of an aching 
head convinced him that he was wounded. Comrades 
gathered about the boy, and with words of cheer, from 
their ready canteens they soon bathed his head and then 
dressed his wounds. At this juncture an Irishman of the 
First Louisiana Infantry, who had always thought much 
of the lad, came and patted him on the cheek like he would 
have done a new born babe, and expressed deep sympathy, 
although this son of Erin had a hole in his own arm made 
by a minnie ball. Then pulling a letter from his pocket 



A Drummer Boy of Shi (oh. 



that showed a hole in the letter made by a ball, holding it 
up before the boy with tears in his eyes he said: **Ah, me 
lad; it's from me own mither, and if I foind the varmint 
that dade it, I'll kill him or the divil's a hog." From this 
he sped away to join his regiment that was forming, to do 
battle again for the land he loved. Brave man. God bless 
their Irish hearts', for no truer metal ever faced burning 
powder and flying lead than those men of the First Louis- 
iana Infantry. 

The drum was all to pieces and the little rifle had drop- 
ped from his hand somewhere, but a good rifle and a good 
Yankee drum was soon picked up and the boy was again 
splendidly equipped. The drum was strung up and he 
rattled away at '*The Old Gray Horse Came Tearing Out 
of the ^/ilderness," which under the circumstances created 
considerable merriment and a little enthusiasm. But when 
the fife and drum began playing "The Girl I Left Behind 
Me," why, a new sph'it possessed the men; they were wild 
with enthusiasm, and under its strains the regiment moved 
forward to contend with the brother in blue for a few more 
feet of Tennessee soil, though ranks were badly depleted 
by previous engagements. Thus, with aching head and 
weary limbs the day was spent, and during the exciting 
scenes of that Sunday night was much danger, suffering 
and anxiety, for the sore head had company with a badly 
bruised shoulder. 



Rest ? Ah, why should we call it rest 
When aches, and pain so sure attest 
No rest ? The messengers of death 
Burst overhead and leave a wreath 
Of lurid light; but fragments fly 
Past, my comrades pierced and they die. 
The groans of wounded, dying, make 
A scene weird, lonely, with heartache, 
Dark and dismal at the best. 
And call this rest? Ah, No; not rest. 



10 A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. 

Second Day — Monday 

Monday morning came to the boy with body and mind 
in great agony, and yet ready for the events of the day, 
willing to do or die, a feeling well known to those old boys 
who have been ground in the same mill, or one similar. 
Just as the regiment was moving forward some one handed 
the boy a note that read as follows, which he read as the 
line advanced: "Your brother was buried to-day. God 
bless you, my boy." The note was unsigned, but he knew 
it was true. *^ Forward,'' was the command that had just 
been given, and the line moved on as that note flitted from 
his fingers away and out on that battle field. The heart 
was crushed and bleeding at the sad message, but ' 'forwanV ' 
was the command, and onward it was, without complaint, 
indifferent as to what the day might bring forth. Bruised, 
sore, suffering in the flesh and heart sick. 

Among the terrible events of this day one presents 
itself for first place, and while the recital of the incident 
is pathetic, it can hardly approach the burning facts. 

After hard fighting and the capture of a goodly num- 
ber of the enemy, the line seemed to come in contact with 
new and gallant troops, and was repulsed, although every 
foot was yielded with dogged sullenness. As the line 
braced for a life struggle, amid the fury that seemed to 
master the line of the blue and the line of the gray, from 
sheer exhaustion, the boy fell upon the field just as the 
blue line pushed back the gray. His head lay in a pool of 
water and mud. As the conquering hosts passed on, his 
body was beaten, mashed and bruised until what little of 
life remained was apparently fast passing away. On that 
damp earth he lay with a spark of life, that seemed flick- 
ering, flickering, the last rays fast vanishing, vision fading, 
fading, as the sun's last rays on the sky above when even- 
ing shadows are silently approaching, or the dim light 
from the quivering lamp when the oil is spent. The voice 
could only lisp, hardly lisp; the powder burned lips were 
like coals of fire and the hand was too heavy to be raised 
but slightly. The shots from his own guns plowed the 



A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. 11 

earth all about him, while the commingled sounds of shell, 
grape, cannister, small arms and general commotion was 
indescribable, for the ears were numb. Oh, those awful 
moments of suffering, suspense and anxiety, when thoughts 
came faster than the mind could grasp them, when the 
panoramma of a lifetime, incidents small and great, pass 
swiftly in view, and the earth seemed reeling, as he lay on 
his horrid bed of earth, shaking, quivering, and he said in 
his heart, "surely this is death, and I shall soon be at rest.'' 
But hark! It was the "huzzah." But, listen again, dull 
ear. The ear is so dull, and it may be that the brain is 
playing mad and lashing the senses with vanishing hope. 
But, can it be! Hark! Listen again. Away down in the 
depths of the earth it seemed, there was a rolling, rumbling, 
sound, like muffled small arms, interspersed with booming, 
belching artillery. Then; oh, then; he could not now be 
deceived, and as his senses began to rally under the in- 
spiration of the moment, he heard and recognized it, the 
yell of the Southern Army, while his heart beat stronger, 
and he made an ineffectual effort to move from his wretch- 
ed bed of water and mud. That awful, but welcome sound 
comes nearer and nearer, rolling up and down the line, as 
if by some mighty inward convulsions, while Yankee 
horses, artillery, caisons, men, fly by like wild and fright- 
ened devils. Troops are moving right and left, officers 
are appealing to their men, new troops are taking position, 
and everything seems in indescribable commotion, and 
yet that terrifying yell comes on and on, the artillery com- 
mingled like the gathering of a cyclone, a combination of 
bursting thunders, leaping, clashing with chaotic fury, 
coming on, nearer, stronger, louder. Possibly the fingers 
of the left hand were slightly extended upward, and a 
strenuous effort was made to join in the grand chorus of 
swelling sound, and yet without the slightest noise from 
those parched and burning lips, but from his heart went 
up into the presence of the God of battles an earnest peti- 
tion for himself and that army of Southern soldiers. The 
effort was too great. Reason almost quit her throne. All 
was darkness, and yet he seemed to be sailing around in 



12 A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. 

the air, 'mid clouds of rolling, boiling smoke and ponder- 
ous pillows of fire. The regiment regained its position for 
a moment, and some seeing the boy on the ground welter- 
ing in his own blood, a comrade rushed torward, grasped 
his limp form amid the storm of battle, and pressing it to 
his own beating heart, retired as the regiment dropped 
back to a place of protection. After washing his head he 
was placed an a blanket that was spread on the ground, and 
heroic efforts were made to bring back again the fire of life. 
A large company of soldiers gathered around and watched 
eagerly for some sign of returning life as they whispered 
sad words to one another. He was only a little boy, 
couldn't do much, but they loved him as if they had a life 
claim on him. His lips began to quiver and strong men 
bent forward to hear the first word, while their eyes were 
wet from the inner fountain. His eyes could see, and he 
saw those men hovering about him and staring him in the 
face. A strong man with long whiskers leaned forward 
and said, *'God bless our boy," and his voice trembled and 
broke all to pieces. **He does," lisped the weak whisper 
of the boy as he smiled on the speaker and those about 
him, and then looked upward, and those strong men by 
common consent quickly dropped their faces in their hands 
and sobbed aloud like children, and poured forth their 
tears of thankfulness and joy, without a shadow of shame 
for their apparent weakness. Joy played over the drum- 
mer's face as he pointed to the drum that had been rescued 
with him, and he put his arms around the neck of Sergeant 
Scofield, his rescuer, and spoke his gratitude. After 
awhile he stood up, he walked, and was fast becoming 
himself again, though weak, sore, heartsick. Though 
ordered to the rear, he remained with those who risked 
their lives to save his, and many a time afterwards did he 
minister to their wants while sick, wounded or dying. 






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